THE 


BURNING  OF  CHICAGO, 


A  POEM, 


BY  THOMAS   CLARKE, 
Author  of  "A  Day  in  May,"  "Sir  Copp,"  "The  Two  Angels,"  etc.,  etc, 


QiiBeque  ipse  miserrima  vidi, 
Et  quorum  pars  magna  fui. — Virgil. 


CHICAGO : 
CLARKE  &f  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  443  WARREN  AVENUE 


^J(^^ 


THE 


BURNING  OF  CHICAGO, 


A  POEM, 


BY  THOMAS  CLARKE, 
Author  of  "A  Day  in  May,"  "Sir  Copp,"  "The  Two  Angels,"  etc.,  etc. 


Quaeque  ipse  miserrima  vidi, 
Et  quorum  pars  magna  fui. —  Virgil, 


CHICAGO : 
CLARKE  <5p  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  443  WARREN  AVENUE. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

By  THOS.  CLARKE, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Ckieago  Type  Foundry.  OTTAWAY,  BROWN  &  COLBERT, 

JOHN     CONAHAN,  Printers, 

ELECTROTYPER.  7  &  g  JefFerson  Street. 


av^S\ 


The  following  Poem  appeared  in  Bonham's  Rural  Mkssenger  for 
November,  187  i  : 

2^0  Thomas  Clarke,  Author  of  the  "'Two  Angels"  "Sir  Co/>/i,"  &c.,  &c. 

BY    T.   W.  SPELLMAN. 

I  knew  your  heart  was  strong  as  adamant ; 
Your  gray  hairs  speak  not  of  your  strength's  decline, 
But  tell  me  of  a  life  of  honest  toil. 
Were  I  a  poet  blessed  with  lofty  fancy, 
I  would  recall  your  presence,  as  when  last 
I  grasped  in  cordial  greeting  your  warm  hand  ; 
And  paint  a  picture  that  would  catch  the  eye, 
52        S^  And  move  the  heart  to  ecstacy.     But  the  fire 

o        ^  Burns  far  too  faint  to  make  my  colors  blend. 

£       "2  To  you,  with  that  full  sympathy  of  soul 

j^       I  And  generous  impulse  which  misfortune  wakes, 

W        ^  To  keenest  life,  I  turn ;  for  well  I  know, 

P       ^  What  natures  such  as  yours — fine-wrought  and  pure, 

S        ~  Must  suffer  in  their  inner  consciousness, 

Ph       -^  When  forced  to  buffet  with  the  whelming  waves 

<;       ^  Of  fortune's  sharp  reverse.     The  iron  will — 

Q-       :,  The  power  to  act  in  dark  adversity — 

^    .    §  With  finer  gold  will  gild  the  crucible. 

^  u  "^  The  quality  of  adverse  circumstance, 

(J  g-  f^  And  the  deep  meaning  of  the  word,  Necessity^ 

a,  2  -c  Tell  you  how  truly  brave  you  are  ;  and  how, 

°  ^  '^  With  courage  to  surmount  the  surge  which  breaks 

z  ^"  .=  ^  Upon  the  wreck,  and  washes  all  away. 


2  2    ^^^  Save  one's  own  stark  identify,  the  victim 

p 
CQ 


5 

p  c"  "^'^i:  Must  be  his  own  dependence,  under  God ; 


, '^  The  world  wags  on,  in  gruff  indifference, 

x  Q   S.-^  And  swaggers  past  you, — yet,  perhaps,  its  gait 

^  (;^  "^C^  Conceals  a  sympathetic  chord,  which,  touched, 

.    .    ^  ^  Though  not  well  tuned,  sends  music  to  the  heart, 

S  '^  f^  |-  AVith  deeper  power  than  chords  of  sweeter  thrill. 

^  c«"  "^  >  The  world  is  full  of  sympathy  ;  and  oft 

_  ^  I  's^  Its  bounties  flow,  whene'er  its  fount  of  tears 

^  d~  ^  -c  Breaks  o'er  the  bounds  of  its  frigidity, 

<J  rt'  -S  S  And  sweeps  these  treasures  home  to  those  who  need. 
U  ;^    g  >^  Your  pen,  the  always  potent  moral  lever 

JC  "^  -^  -t;  That  moves  a  world,  and  leaves  a  blessing  oft 

U  aj  ^  ^.  To  him  who  stops  to  con  the  living  page, 

^  -^    ^  i«.  Hath  raised  an  army  on  the  Western  plains 

^7^    3.i!  Of  men  who  stand,  with  willing  hearts  and  hands. 
To  cheer  the  brother  whom  they  have  not  seen. 


DEDICATION. 


The  following  correspondence  sufficiently  explains  itself: 

War  REX 
November  26,  1871 


No.  443  Warrex  Avenue,  Chicago,  > 


S.  W.  Spellman,  Esq., 

I?ear  Sir  : 

Enclosed  please  find  a  little  poem  which  I  com- 
menced, some  time  ago,  in  the  vain  hope  that  it  might  turn  out  something  adequate 
to  express  my  deep  gratitude  to  you  for  the  kind  and  excellent  poem  which  you 
were  so  good  as  to  inscribe  to  me  in  this  month's  issue  of  Bonhams  Rural 
Messenger. 

I  found  that  the  great  length  of  the  poem  suggested  by  your  own  would  preclude 
its  insertion  in  the  Messenger ;  so  I  have  been  obliged  to  curtail  it  within  reason- 
ably proper  bounds,  and  I  send  it  to  you  thus  maimed,  to  publish  it  or  not,  as  you 
may  deem  best.  [The  poem  referred  to  may  be  found  on  page  twenty,  of  this 
issue.^-ED.  Mes.] 

My  friends  wish  me  to  publish  the  whole  poem  in  book  form ;  and  if  I 
should  do  so,  I  shall  feel  a  great  pleasure,  if  you  permit  me,  to  inscribe  it  to  you 
who  have  inspired  it. 

Your  much  obliged  friend, 

THOMAS  CLARKE. 


No.  624  Main  Street,  Rockford,  ) 
November  28,  1871.  f 

Prof.  Thos.  Clarke, 

Dear  Sir  : 

If  the  use  of  my  humble  name,  comparatively  un- 
known as  it  is  in  the  field  of  poetic  literature,  will  add  in  the  least  to  the  success  or 
value  of  the  poem  you  mention,  you  are  at  liberty  to  use  it  in  the  manner  you  sug- 
gest. Ever  deeming  it  an  honor  to  have  my  name  associated  with  one  whose  repu- 
tation as  a  poet,  and  whose  character  as  a  gentleman,  are  above  criticism  in  the  one 
or  derogation  in  the  other,  I  hope  you  will  consider  this  a  sufficient  permit,  and 

believe  me  to  be. 

Sincerely,  yours, 

S.  W.  SPELLMAN. 


443  Warren  Avenue,  Chicago,  ) 
December  26,  187 1.  \ 

S.  W.  Spellman,  Esq., 

Dear  Sir  : 

I  feel  happy  in  being  permitted  to  give  ex- 
pression to  my  gratitude,  by  inscribing  to  you  the  following  poem,  entitled  "  The 
Burning  of  Chicago  ;"  and  I  only  hope  it  may  justify  the  high  opinion  which  you 
entertain  of  its  author  ;  as  well  as  satisfy  llie  taste  of  one  so  well  qualified  to  judge 
of  such  matters,  as  you  have  proved  yourself  to  be. 
I  remain,  dear  .sir, 

Your  faithful  friend, 

THOMAS  CLARKE. 


The   Burning  of  Chicago. 


Kind  friend,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sympathy ; 
'Tis  bahii  to  soothe  my  spirit  in  distress ; 
And  could  I  but  repay  thee  as  I  would, 
My  Muse  should  be  invoked  to  ease  my  heart 
Of  the  deep  debt  of  gratitude  it  owes, 
And  still  must  owe,  for  lack  of  power  to  pay ; 
For  still  the  memory  of  that  fiery  sea. 
Whose  waves  engulfed  our  city  in  their  wrath, 
Usurps  dominion  o'er  my  helpless  will, 
And  rules  supreme,  a  tyrant  o'er  its  realm. 

Oh,  such  a  scene  transpiring  'neath  my  view, 
Myself  a  part,  appears  to  me  a  dream, 
A  hideous  nightmare,  from  whose  deadly  grasp 
I  ever  seem  to  fly, — but  fly  in  vain  !  > 

Can  nothing  blot  the  memory  of  that  night. 
That  Sabbath  night  of  horrors,  from  my  soul ; 
And  leave  it  a  receptacle,  once  more, 
Of  peace  and  bliss,  secure  from  boding  ill  ? 
Alas,  too  deep  the  imprint  of  that  scene. 
That  fearful  scene,  is  branded  on  my  heart 
For^  aught,  save  dissolution,  to  efface. 

That  night,  October  8th,  will  ever  be 
An  era  in  the  history  of  the  world : 
One  thousand  eighteen  hundred  seventy-one. 
The  year  of  grace  in  which  the  scene  occurred, 


THE    BURNING    OF    CHICAGO. 

Will  be  recorded  on  the  roll  of  time, 
As  one  of  great  disaster  and  distress 
To  thousands  who  have  suffered  woes  untold, 
In  the  great  fires  that  swept  our  Western  homes. 
And  young  Chicago,  from  the  world's  fair  map, 
Without  a  moment's  warning  to  prepare 
The  minds  of  men  for  such  a  sudden  change, 
For  such  a  cruel,  unexpected  blow. 

Dismal  and  bleak  'round  the  street  corners  moaned 
The  hollow  blast,  that  memorable  night. 
While  I  and  my  companion  bent  our  steps 
Homeward  from  church ;  and,  as  we  moved  along, 
Impeded  by  the  wind  at  every  step, 
I  said  :  "  If  fire  should  rage  in  such  a  storm. 
Farewell  to  home  and  all  our  earthly  store." 
Scarce  had  we  reached  that  home,  my  wife  and  I, 
When  hark  !  the  court-house  bell  sounds  an  alarm  ; 
Which  proved  the  death-knell  of  our  city  fair ; 
The  grave  of  all  our  hopes,  for  many  a  year. 

And  this  was  the  knell 

Which  was  tolled  by  the  bell. 
For  the  lovely  Garden  City  of  the  West ; 

In  that  solemn  warning  wail. 

In  the  fury  of  the  gale,, 

In  the  clouds  before  it  driven, 

In  the  frown  of  angry  Heaven, 
Might  be  read  the  coming  terror  and  unrest. 

And  thus  the  bell  did  say, 

In  its  solemn  clang,  clang,  clang; 

As  its  fearful  music  rang 

Through  the  city  steeped  in  pleasure, 

And  inflated  beyond  measure, 


THE    BURNING    OF    CHICAGO.  7 

With  abundant  stores  of  treasure ; 
And  it  caused  a  sudden  terror  and  dismay  : 

\ 

"  Think,  oh  mortal  men,  who  flourish  * 

Like  the  hHes  of  the  field, 
Which  the  sun  and  spring  showers  nourish, 

Which  the  lovely  gardens  yield ; 
Think,  that  'midst  the  bloom  of  May 

Comes  the  canker  of  decay; 
That  the  fairest  lily  glancing 

In  the  sunbeam  after  dawn, 
Or  the  loveliest  maiden  dancing 
With  her  lover  on  the  lawn. 
May  both,  within  the  space  of  one  brief  hour. 
Be  taught  to  feel  the  proud  destroyer's  power ; 
And  now  the  Prairie  Queen,  the  young  Chicago, 
Is  doomed  to  meet  the  fate  of  proud  Carthago ! 

And  lo,  the  shooting  fires,  like  boreal  lights, 
Spread  o'er  the  fated  city  towards  the  South ; 
And  redden  lake  and  sky  with  one  broad  sheet 
Of  billowy  flame  that  baffles  all  the  skill 
Of  the  few  firemen  who  had  been  detailed, 
At  first,  to  fight  the  formidable  foe ! 

Again  the  bell. 
Prophetic  of  the  coming  woe 
That  soon  must  lay  the  city  low. 
Tolls  out  its  funeral  knell. 
And  then  its  fearful  music  rang, 
A  wild,  sad  dirge,  a  mournful  clang, 
A  dirge  of  solemn  meaning. 
Striking  terror  to  the  soul ; 
While,  from  centre  to  the  pole. 
The  heavens  with  light  are  gleaming 


THE   BURNING   OF   CHICAGO.  :■ 

/ 

From  the  fiery  element ;  •  •  - 

Like  the  radiance  that  is  sent  /    "" 

From  a  richly  gilded  ceiling,  ■  ' 

Lighted  by  the  numd'rous  torches,         ■        > 
That  are  carried  through  the  porches,  ' 

In  a  solemn  night-proceSsion,  > 

By  the  fathers  of  confession, 
Till  they  reach  the  sacred  dome,  ^ 

Where  the  sisters  also  come  ;  ■    ~    '.  - 

There,  inspired  by  holy  feeling, 
And  on  the  cold  marble  kneeling,     '     -'    (         , 
They  sing  the  solemn  mass. 
For  souls  about  to  pass 

Before  the  throne  eternal,  .      - 

To  God  in  radiant  glory. 
To  save  from  purga'tory. 
By  his  great  power  supernal, 
Those  souls  which,  but  for  Jesus'  sake. 
Must  wail  forever  in  the  burning  lake.  '-        > 
V 
With  furious  speed  the  summoned  engines  rush. " 
To  stem  the  fiery  torrent  in  its  coursed    ■ 
The  firemen  do  their  best, — that  be^t  how*welk  ! 
To  cope  with  such  n  pitiless  foe,  which  giVes. 
No  quarter  to  the- vanquished,  but  pursues 
Its  victim  to  the  death,  unless,  perhaps. 
By  speed  superior,  he  elude  its  grasp. 

On  sweeps  the  flame  tremendous,  licking  up 
The  proudest  structures,  with  its  hissing  tongue ; 
And,  as  the  hungry  tiger  thirsts  for  blood, 
And  loves  destruction  for  destruction's  sake. 
The  greedy  flame'turns  back,  and  prostrate  lays. 
Whole  blocks  and  streets  which  it  at  first  had  spared. 

Again  that  dismal  court-house  bell  peals  out ! 


THE    BURNING    OF    CHICAGO. 

Peals  out  its  last  sad  wail,  its  funeral  knell, 
Wil:h  quick  reverberation  :  cl!ang,  clang,  clang, 
Clang,  clang,  clang,  clang,  clang,  clang, 
Clang,  clang,  clang ! 

This  was 'tlie  burden  of  its  woe  : 
*  "With  a  hollow,  stifled  moan, 

In  a  mournful  monotone, 
The  city's  knell  I  rang, 
And  terrific  was  the  clang; 
But  now  another  knell  I  must  toll ,     > 
And  that  knell,  oh  !  that  knell  is  mine  own, 
For  now  there  comes  a  cry, 
That  I,  alas  !  must  die  ; 
But  why  I  am  thus  doomed,  I  may  not  know ; 
Save  that  the  fates  so  will,  which  nothing  can  control, 
I  have  labored  day  and  night, 
With  all  my  zeal  and  might. 
To  save  the  city  from  the  fiery  foe , 
'  And  this  is  the  return  . 

r  here  must  melt  and  burn. 
And  iil^e  the  dying  swafi,  sing,  woe,  woe,  woe  !" 
And  since  the  Fates  decree. 
That  this  must  surely  be  ; 
To  "future  ages.  I  would  have' it  known, 
That  I  have  measured  time  with  honest  hand, 
Nor  reaped, I  ever  where  I  had  not  sown; 
But  scattered  timely  warnings  o'er  tlie  land, 
Which  mortal  men  were  slow  to  understand. 

"  Mother,  hast  thou  done  thy  duty, 

To  thy  husband  and  thy  child  ? 
Daughter,  hast  thou  ])rized  the  beauty 

Clothed  upon  a  spirit  mild  ? 
Father,  hast  thou  well  provided 


xO  THE   BURNING    OF  CHICAGO. 

For  the  pledges  of  thy  love  ? 
Brother,  hast  thou  been  decided 

In  thy  choice  of  Heaven  above  ? 
If  so,  'tis  well." 

And  now  the  bell, 

With  a  quick  reiteration, 

Sounds  its  own  funeral  knell. 

Louder,  fiercer,  every  moment,  rang. 

Its  fearful  warning  clang. 

Clang,  clang,  clang,  clang,  clang,  clang ; 

Clang,  clang,  clang,  clang,  clang,  clang ! ! 

And  hark  to  that  terrific  din 

That  swells  upon  the  tortured  air ! 

Hark,  hark  !  it  is  the  wailing  of  despair. 

Whose  every  note  smites  with  dismay. 

The  hearts  of  all  who  listen  to  the  lay. 
For  it  tells  them  of  a  frightful  conflagration. 
Sent  down  from  Heaven  to  punish  them  for  sin ! 

Thus  in  its  dying  tone, 
Together  with  the  city's  fate, 
The  bell  proclaims  its  own  ! 
Of  both  the  doom  is  sealed ;  and  now,  alas  ! 
All  hope  for  them  is  vain.     The  cry  :  "  Lost,  lost !" 
Is  echoed  far  and  wide,  with  wild  dismay, 
With  anguish  and  despair  •  as  of  a  soul. 
Which  has  received  its  sentence  from  its  God  • 
"  Depart,  thou  wicked  spirit,  to  the  place 
Prepared  for  such  as  thou  '"    Then,  then  it  shrieks. 
In  agony  unspeakable  t  "  Lost,  lost !" 
Its  cries  of  anguish  and  of  horror,  peal 
Througli  boundless  space  •  "  Lost,  lost,  forever  lost '" 
And  Echo  from  the  caves  of  Erebus, 
Of  Chaos  and  Old  Night,  reverberates, 
With  solemn  mockery  of  despair  •  "  Lost,  lost, 
Lost,  lost  for  ever,  lost  for  ever  lost !" 


THE    BURNING   OF   CHICAGO,  IB 

A  pause  succeeds, — an  ominous,  painful  pause, 
Wherein  the  roar  of  the  fierce  elements 
Let  loose,  is  heard  with  more  appalling  din ; 
And  then  a  sudden  crash,  a  mighty  shock, 
As  if  the  solid  fabric  of  the  earth 
Were  rent  asunder, — burled  with  violence 
Against  some  other  sphere  !     Then  all  is  still, 
Save  the  wild  wind  and  flame,  whose  violence 
Is  fed  and  pampered  by  this  fresh  supply 
Of  fuel  from  the  fallen  roof  and  dome. 

And,  now,  the  awful  scene  transcends  belief; 
Transcends  all  power  of  pencil  to  depict, 
Of  tongue  to  utter,  or  of  pen  to  paint. 
Exaggeration  here  can  have  no  place  ; 
Romance  no  home,  and  Fiction  no  retreat ; 
The  naked  truth  itself  is  so  remote, 
So  unattainable,  so  vast,  so  grand ; 
That  one  might  sooner  hope  to  grasp  the  stars, 
The  universe, — Omnipotence  itself; — 
Than  hope  to  give  the  world  a  single  phase 
Of  that  tremendous  and  undreamt  of  woe. 
That  has  befallen  our  city  and  ourselves. 
The  greatest  shock  our  race  has  ever  known ! 

Here  all  the  senses  are  assailed,  at  once, 
With  the  most  monstrous  objects.     Sounds  of  wrath. 
In  every  key  of  horror,  shriek  and  wail. 
And  roar,  and  bellow  round  us,  like  the  wails. 
The  shrieks,  the  moans,  the  bowlings  of  the  damned  ! 
The  bulls  of  Bashan,  tigers  of  Bengal,  "^ 

Numidian  lions  roaring  for  their  prey ; 
Fierce  screaming  eagles,  croaking  carrion  crows. 
Wolves,  bears  and  panthers,  seem  in  concert  joined; 
Whose  harsh,  discordant  notes  fall  on  the  ear, 


12  THE    BURNING    OF   CHICAGO. 

In  one  vast  diapason  of  mad  rage, 
Of  horror,  and  of  vengeance,  and  of  death  ! 
These  added  to  the  sights  that  meet  the  eye, 
On  every  hand,  appal  the  stoutest  heart, 
And  fill  the  bravest  spirit  with  dismay  ! 

Flames  of  all  colors  glare  upon  the  sight. 
From  bloody  red  through  all  the  various  hues 
Of  yellow,  green  and  purple  to  pure  white 
Blended  with  pale  blue  lights;  such  as  are  seen, 
"When  chemists  use  the  blow-pipe  to  consume 
The  hardest  adamant,  or  to  reduce 
Metalic  bases  to  their  elements. 
Like  unto  which,  ten  million  millions,  now. 
Seem  wielded  by  Omnipotence,  and  blown 
By  his  own  angry  breath,  to  melt  at  once 
Our  homes,  our  substance  in  the  fiery  flood, 
And  blot  our  guilty  city  from  the  earth. 
The  burning  air,  as  from  a  furnace  sent. 
Pregnant  with  sulphurous,  execrable  smells, 
Stifles  each  breath  we  draw,  our  mouthy  and  throats 
Are  filled  with  bitterness ;  as  of  that  fruit 
That  grows  upon  the  shores  of  Acheron. 
The  scene  around  is  like  the  burning  pit, 
Through  whose  infernal  shades  and  friendly  screen, 
Stalk  hellhounds  in  the  shape  of  Christian  men, 
Exacting  blackmail  from  the  tortured  poor, 
And  oft  committing  murder  for  its  sake. — 
A  splendid  illustration  of  the  fruits 
Of  moral  and  religious  teachings,  reaped. 
After  a  growth  and  ripening  of  years. 
Nay  centuries  of  labor  and  of  care. 
Of  prayer  and  fasting,  watering  of  tears  ! — 
And  over  all  is  thrown  the  pall  of  death. 
Black  clouds  of  smoke,  through  which  the  waning  moon 


THE    BURNING  OF    CHICAGO.  13 

Gleams  down,  at  intervals,  with  pallid  face 
And  ghastly  smile  ;  suggesting  to  the  mind, 
A  loop-hole  in  the  vaulted  roof  of  hell ; 
Through  which  the  wicked  are  allowed  to  look, 
To  aggravate  their  misery  and  despair. 

And  now,  our  cup  of  horrors  overflows ; 
Shrieks,  wails  and  prayers  ascend,  in  vain,  to  Heaven, 
Whose  murky  canopy  frowns  back  :  "  Avaunt ! 
Ye  hypocrites,  your  prayers  are  now  too  late ; 
Repent  in  earnest,  if  ye  would  be  spared  I" 
Ah,  then  and  there,  'twas  piteous  to  behold 
The  panic-stricken  multitude  retreat. 
In  wild  confusion,  to  escape  the  bolts, — 
The  murderous  rain  of  fiery  bolts  that  fell 
Around  them,  thick  as  hail  before  the  blast ; 
And  filled  the  air,  like  flakes  of  falling  snow  ' 

Some  wretches  fell  exhausted  in  the  street 
A  prey  to  the  devouring  element ; 
Some  fled  to  cellars,  trusting  to  their  strength, 
As  proof  against  the  fiercest  flame  ; — but  these 
Have  not  returned,  and  will  return  no  more  ! 
Some  fell,  sad  victims  to  their  appetites 
For  drink,  which  freely  flowed  for  all  who  chose 
To  quaff  the  maddening  draught,  the  last  for  them. 

How  many  perished,  none  may  ever  know ; 
Since  not  one  trace  of  their  existence  now 
Is  left  to  tell  the  melanchob*  tale. 

Those  who  escaped  with  life,  had  little  else 
To  comfort  them,  or  render  life  a  boon ; 
And  these  were  many,  who,  all  breathless,  fled 
From  each  successive  refuge,  which  uroved  vain ; 


14  THE    BURNING    OF  CHICAGO. 

Till  nothing  but  the  prairie,  bleak  and  bare, 
Was  left  to  screen  the  mother  and  her  babe ; 
The  sick,  the  dying,  naked  and  forlorn. 
And  had  not  God  looked  down  upon  our  state, 
In  pity,  and  in  answer  to  our  prayers, 
The  fruit  of  true  repentance  and  reform. 
That  dismal  night  had  been  our  last  on  earth  ! 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  yea,  bless  the  Lord, 
For  his  great  mercy  shown  to  us  this  day ; 
And  sing  a  grateful  hymn  to  praise  his  name. 

O  Lord  our  God,  how  truly  great  art  thou. 
When  clothed  in  all  thy  majesty  and  power! 
Who  with  thy  touch  dost  cause  the  hills  to  smoke ; 
Who  makest  the  clouds  thy  chariot ;  and  dost  ride 
Upon  the  out-spread  pinions  of  the  wind ; 
And  makest  them  thy  ministers ;  and  these 
A  flaming  fire  obedient  to  thy  will, 
To  execute  thy  purposes  on  earth, 
Thy  judgments  on  the  sons  of  mortal  men, 
Who  have  forsaken  thee,  and  incense  burned 
To  idols  made  of  gold,  of  brass  and  clay ; 
And  glorified  the  works  of  their  own  hands. 

Herein,  O  Lord,  with  tears,  we  must  confess ; 
We  grievously  have  sinned,  forgetting  thee, 
To  worship  Mammon,  Dagon,  any  god 
That  might  give  promise  of  a  fleeting  joy; 
And  therefore,  thou  hast  bared  thy  mighty  arm. 
To  smite  us  in  thy  anger  with  thy  bolt ; 
And  lay  our  sinflul  city  in  the  dust ; 
So  that  who  once  beheld  her,  nov/  exclaim : 
"How  doth  the  city  that  was  full  of  people, 
A  city  great  amongst  the  provinces, 


THE    BURNING    OF   CHICAGO.  l5 

Sit,  like  a  widow,  solitary  now  !" 

But  thou,  O  Lord,  hast  had  compassion  on  us. 

And  spared  a  remnant  of  thy  people  here  ; 

And,  in  thy  mercy,  granted  to  them  time 

For  thought  and  true  repentance ;  till  they  turn 

To  thee,  the  only  good,  the  only  source 

Of  peace,  security  and  happiness ; 

And  on  this  solid  rock  rebuild  a  city. 

Whose  every  hearth  shall  be  a  shrine  to  thee ; 

Where  all  the  household  shall  unite  in  prayer. 

In  praise  and  gratitude  and  boundless  love, 

From  generation  unto  generation, 

For  ever  and  for  evermore — Amen. 

And,  Lord,  we  thank  thee,  that  far  distant  friends 
Who  heard  the  story  of  our  matchless  woe, 
Inspired  by  thee  and  Christian  charity, 
Were  prompt  to  forward  us  the  needed  aid ; 
To  whom  our  love  and  gratitude  are  due ; 
Who,  next  to  thee,  demand  our  thanks  and  praise. 

O  generous  Friends  who  came  to  our  relief, 
Yea,  from  the  utmost  regions  of  the  earth. 
How  shall  we  best  our  gratitude  express  ? 
How  can  we  best  yonr  noble  deeds  repay  ? 
Your  offerings,  we  know,  were  free  as  air; 
Bestowed  without  the  slightest  hope  or  wish 
Of  any  recompense,  save  that  which  springs 
From  the  sweet  consciousness,  that  he  who  gives 
His  substance  to  the  poor,  lends  to  the  Lord : 
The  act  itself  being  its  own  best  reward. 
We  therefore  feel,  that  if  we  emulate 
Tlie  glorious  example  ye  have  set  us. 
We  shall  repay  you  in  the  coin  ye  love ; 
If,  when  men  suffer  as  we  lately  suffered, 
We  do  to  them  as  ye  have  done  to  us. 


l6  THE   BURNING    OF    CHICAGO, 

Return  we  now  to  view  the  sad  remains 
Of  what  was  once  our  lovely  Prairie  Queen, 
The  Garden  City — pride  of  all  the  land. 

The  second  morning  after  her  reverse, 
I  enter  from  the  North ;  and  am  amazed 
To  find  no  mark  whereby  to  recognise 
A  single  street  or  building  :     All  are  blent 
Into  one  shapeless  ruin,  grim  and  stark ! 

The  wind  still  howled  with  fury  o'er  the  waste, 
As  if  not  yet  quite  satisfied, — and  swept 
Thick  clouds  of  dust  and  ashes  through  the  air, 
Blinding  the  eyes  with  smoke  ;  stifling  the  breath 
With  sulphurous  vapors  and  the  smell  of  fire. 
^he  streets  were  rough,  and  hollowed  by  the  flames ; 
And  felt  like  burning  marl  beneath  the  feet. 
The  iron  rails,  once  stretched  along  the  streets. 
Were  twisted  now  and  curled  and  arched  and  bent, 
Into  fantastic  shapes  of  every  form ; 
Which  proved  the  fierceness  of  the  fiery  flood 
That  had  passed  over  them  ;  and  had  laid  waste 
Th'  adjacent  park  and  cemetery  whose  tombs 
And  trees  and  fences  all  had  been  consumed. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  on  either  side. 
Homes,  churches,  schools  and  colleges  were  strewn, 
As  if  by  some  terrific  earthquake's  shock. 
Here  breweries  lay  prostrate, — taverns  there ; 
Stores,  elevators,  marts  on  every  hand. 
Were  mingled  indiscriminately  ;  and  slept 
Together  in  one  vast  and  common  grave. 

A  little  further  on,  the  naked  walls 
Of  Robert  CoUyer's  church  appear  in  view. 


THE    BURNING    OF  CHICAGO.  17 

A  solitary  landmark  in  the  waste ; 
Save  that,  far  to  the  left,  the  waterworks 
Could  still  be  recognized  by  the  tall  tower 
Which  had  escaped  unharmed. 

Near  Collyer's  church, 
There  stood  one  solitary  wooden  house. 
Which,  with  its  wooden  stable,  had  escaped, 
By  some  strange  miracle,  the  common  fate. 

As  I  advanced,  I  here  and  there  remarked 
The  presence  of  small  groups  of  men,  who  seemed 
Intent  on  something  which  attracted  them ; 
I  found  they  were  inspecting  the  remains 
Of  human  victims  to  the  scorching  flames, 
All  burnt  to  cinders,  or  so  much  defaced, 
As  rendered  recognition  hopeless  now  ; 
And  many  such  were  seen. 

And  now  I  tried 
To  find  my  former  home  on  Illinois. 
I  could  not  find  the  street ;  until,  at  length, 
I  came  upon  a  house  of  which  one  stone 
Remained  in  place,  unbroken  near  the  base  ; 
On  which  I  read:  "Rush  Medical  College."     Then 
I  knew  where  stood  my  recent  happy  home. 
Tears  flowed  abundant  down  my  furrowed  cheeks, 
When  I  beheld  in  ruins  that  dear  spot. 
Where,  in  the  bosom  of  my  family 
Now  scattered  far  apart,  I  had  enjoyed 
As  much  felicity  as  mortal  man 
May  hope  for  in  this  bitter  vale  of  tears ; 
I  tore  myself  away,  still  gazing  back, 
With  many  a  painful,  many  a  wistful  look, 
Until  I  reached  the  tunnel  on  La  Salle. 


l8  THE    BURNING    OF   CHICAGO. 

I  entered  this.     The  place  was  gloomy  now  ; 
A  hollow  cave  without  one  ray  of  light 
To  render  darkness  visible.     A  throng 
Of  houseless  wanderers,  drooping,  like  myself, 
**  Whose  smiles,  put  on,  could  ill  conceal  the  woe, 

The  torture  of  the  bleeding  heart  within, 
Were  my  companions.     And  with  these  I  groped, 
My  weary  way  through  rubbish,  stones  and  bricks, 
That  choked  the  entrance  and  the  exit  too, 
From  houses  fallen  on  them  from  both  sides. 
■;  Midst  strange  unearthly  noises  made  by  men, 

T  Who  laughed,  and  whistled  ;  sang  and  bawled,  in  turn. 

To  cheer  them  through  the  passage,  we,  at  length. 
Emerged  to  light  upon  the  other  side. 

-     ^  The  ruin  here  was  frightful !     Every  house 

On  that  most  splendid  street,  lay  in  the  dust. 
Except  the  court  house  walls ;  which  still  remained, 
A  blackened  mass,  divested  of  its  roof, 
Its  dome,  its  clock,  its  beauty  and  its  grace. 
The  noble  building  of  the  Board  of  Trade, 
.  Whose  "  Hall  of  Commerce"  late  had  been  the  pride 
Of  all  the  West — the  finest  in  the  world. 
Lay  prostrate  near — no  stone  was  left  on  stone  ! 
The  Sherman  House  had  perished  too,  and  all 
The  buildings  that  had  graced  the  court  house  square. 

'Twas  wondrous  to  observe  the  fearful  force 
Exerted  by  the  flames  on  solid  walls, 
Deemed  proof  to  fire  and  all  the  elements; 
Melting  the  polished  marble  into  lime  ; 
Rending  the  hardest  granite  into  shreds ; 
Twisting  the  iron  columns  into  shapes 
Grotesque  and  fanciful ;  as  if  mere  toys. 
Or  playthings  in  the  hands  of  some  spoiled  child, 
The  issue  of  some  vast,  gigantic  race. 


THE    BURNING  CHICAGO.  I9 

These,  yielding  to  the  flar .  .  collapsed  and  hurled 

The  superincumbent  mass  across  the  streets, 

In  wild  confusion,  piling  up  the  wreck 

In  one  entangled  web  inextricable ; 

And  thus  imposing  harder  toils  on  those 

Who  shall  this  mighty  ruin  clear  away ; 

Than  were  imposed  by  him,  that  Argive  King, — 

On  Hercules,  to  cleanse  th'  Augean  bog; 

Or  drag  the  robber  Cacus,  from  his  den, 

That  he  his  stolen  oxen  might  regain. 

From  lake  to  river,  and  from  North  to  South, 
As  far  as  Harrison — which  stopped  the  flames. 
And  far  beyond  the  reach  of  human  eye, 
From  any  point,  the  ruins  seemed  to  grow 
In  vastness  and  sublimity  around ; 
But  o'er  what  space  in  acres  or  in  miles, 
I  do  not  care  to  know — nor  ev'n  enquire. 

The  Briggs  House  and  the  Metropolitan ; 
The  Opera  House,  the  Banks  ;  the  noble  stores  ; 
The  huge  Pacific,  ere  it  was  complete ; 
The  Depot  grand  of  the  Rock-Island  Road ; 
The  Palmer  Hause  ;  the  Biglow  ;  the  Tremont; 
The  Matteson ;  the  Adams  and  St.  James ; 
The  Custom  House;  the  Tribune  Block;  the  stores 
And  splendid  marts  of  State  Street  and  of  Lake ; 
The  Union  Depot  at  the  foot  of  Lake  • 
The  princely  palaces  on  Michigan 
And  AVabash  Avenues;  the  churches,  schools. 
The  theatres,  the  libraries  and  halls ; 
The  elevators — lay  a  heap  confused 
Of  rubbish  and  of  ashcri  scattered  o'er 
The  scene  of  our  late  boast  and  ])ride  and  ho})e  ! 


THE   BURNING    OF    CHICAGO. 

Through  these  I  wander  iiow  with  listless  step, 
Dreaming  I  tread  the  Halls  of  Nineveh, 
Or  Babylon ;  whose  ruins  vast  deform 
The  Assyrian  plain,  once  glorious  and  sublime, 
But  now  the  haunts  of  bittern  and  wild  beast ; 
Till  roused  by  some  familiar  sight  I  feel 
The  sad  reality  in  all  its  force, 
And  naked  horror.     Then,  with  sobs  and  tears. 
Awaking  from  my  dream,  I  cry  alond : 
"  Alas,  alas  !     No  Babylon  art  thou  ; 
No  Nineveh  ;  no  city  of  the  plain ! 
Tis  thou,  Chicago,  thou,  the  Prairie  Queen ! 
Fair  Garden  City,  pride  of  all  thy  sons  ! 
Tis  thou,  Chicago,  thou  !  but  oh,  how  changed ! 
Tis  thou,  Chicago,  fallen,  oh,  how  fallen  !" 
And  then  I  pause  amazed,  and  ask  myself: 
"  What  was  the  cause  of  this  vast  overthrow.-' 
Has  God  descended  from  his  dwelling  place, 
As  erst  upon  the  cities  of  the  plain ; 
To  see,  if  the  report  of  violence 

And  wrong  that  reached  him  from  our  midst,  was  true ; 
And  therefore  sent  this  messenger  of  wrath. 
To  sweep  us  with  the  besom  of  destruction  ?" 

Our  self-indulgent  self  complacency 
May  answer  to  this  charge  :  "  It  cannot  be  ! 
We  have  been  innocent!     Behold  the  proof: 
The  people  mostly  have  been  spared  in  life ; 
Their  dwellings  only  and  their  substance  lost ; 
So  that  by  labor  they  may  soon  repair 
The  ruin  and  the  loss ;  and  thus  regain 
Their  former  splendor,  wealth  and  high  estate ; 
Build  solidly,  and  save  themselves  henceforth 
From  peril  of  fire  and  flood  and  every  ill." 


THE  BURNING    OF  CHICAGO.  21 

It  may  be  so ;  Heaven  grant  it  so  may  prove  ! 
I  fain  Avould  hope,  that  we  are  innocent 
And  sinless  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man ; 
Have  done  our  duty  to  our  fellow  men ; 
Nor  grasped  more  than  our  honest  share  of  gain ; 
Have  cheered  the  widow  in  her  agony, 
Nor  sought  to  take  advantage  of  her  woe, 
To  add  her  pittance  to  our  groaning  store ; 
That  we  have  snatched  the  orphan  from  the  grasp 
Of  want ;  and  schooled  him  in  the  precious  lore 
Of  honest  labor  and  the  arts  of  life ; 
And  thus  by  love  disarmed  th'  incendiary. 

If  we  have  acted  thus,  with  honest  heart. 
The  city  which  we  build  will  brave  the  shock 
Of  every  element,  unmoved,  unscathed ; 
And,  like  the  Parthenon  on  the  Acropolis, 
Will  shine,  a  model  of  beauty  and  of  strength, 
A  beacon  light  to  all  the  universe, 
An  honor  to  ourselves  and  to  the  race. 

And,  as  the  Spartan  said  to  one  who  scoffed, 
Because  his  city  seemed  unwalled,  and  bare 
Of  all  external  fence :  "  It  is  not  so  ! 
For  know,  that  Sparta  is  impregnable. 
And  trebly  fenced  with  adamantine  walls. 
By  the  heroic  valor  of  her  sons." 
So  shall  we  say  to  those  who  bid  us  build 
With  indestructible  materials ; 
"  What  human  power  can  build  against  the  Lord  ? 
What  walls  of  adamant  resist  His  wrath  ? 
Shut  out  the  pestilence  that  walks  at  night ; 
The  thunderbolt,  the  famine  or  the  flood. 
The  mighty  earthquake,  or  the  hurricane  ? 


22  THE    BURNING    OF    CHICAGO. 

Yet  we  should  build,  as  prudence  would  dictate; 
With  brick  or  solid  rock,  or  any  thing 
Not  liable  to  be  consumed,  like  straw, 
By  th'  incendiary's  midnight  torch  ;  or  by 
The  casual  spark  emitted  from  the  pipe 
Of  careless  loafer,  or  more  careless  boy. 

But  whatso'er  the  substance  we  employ ; 
One  great  desideratum  still  remains  ; 
And  wanting  which,  the  building  cannot  stand. 
The  mortar  used  must  be  Humanity, 
With  Mercy  tempered  and  Unselfishness. 
Let  Mammon  and  let  Dagon  be  dethroned ; 
Let  God,  Religion,  Reason,  be  installed, 
Not  merely  in  the  outward  shrine  of  stone, 
The  temple  made  by  hands,  whose  end  is  death ; 
But  in  the  living  temple  of  the  soul, 
Which  knows  no  dissolution  nor  decay ; 
Let  Love,  and  Truth  and  Justix:e  reign  within ; 
Then  shall  our  city,  trebly  walled  and  armed, 
Defy  the  assaults  of  sword,  of  plague,  of  fire  ; 
For  God  shall  be  its  citadel  of  strength ; 
Its  bulwark,  its  defender  and  its  friend. 


And  now,  beloved  Chicago,  fare  thee  well, 
In  life  unrivalled ;  glorious  in  thy  death  ! 
And  lo,  for  thee  I  build  this  monument 
More  durable  than  brass  or  pyramid 
Or  Mausoleum,  reared  to  honor  kings  ; 
A  monument  which  not  the  gnawing  tooth 
Of  wind  or  rain,  or  the  rough  flight  of  time 
Through  years  innumerable  can  destroy  ; 
But  which  shall  stand  as  long  as  earth  endures  I 


PROSPECTUS 


NEW  BOOK  TO  BE   PUBLISHED   IN  CHICAGO,  ON  THE 
1ST  OF  MARCH,  1872. 


On  or  about  the  ist  of  March  next,  we  propose  to  begin  publishing,  in  parts  of 
32  pages  each,  a  new  and  beautiful  story  of  English  life,  entitled  "  Avondale  ;  OR, 
THE  Adventurers,"  by  Thomas  Clarke,  author  of  "Sir  Copp,"  "The  Two  Angels," 
"A  Day  in  May,"  etc. 

This  work  has  been  carefully  prepared  ;  and  is  pronounced,  by  good  judges,  to  be 
the  masterpiece  of  the  author ;  that  it  will  defy  competition  ;  establish  the  pre- 
eminence of  our  home  literary  production  on  an  impregnable  basis  ;  and  convince 
the  world  that  the  Great  West  is  strong  in  literature  as  she  is  in  every  thing  else 
that  is  great  and  good.     The  price  will  be  25  cents  per  number,  paper  covers. 

As  we  will  issue  20,000  copies — never  less — but  perhaps  many  more,  it  will  be 
the  best  possible  medium  for  advertisers  to  make  themselves  and  their  wares  known 
all  over  the  country,  and  we  solicit  them  to  send  in  their  subscriptions  and  their 
orders  at  once. 

We  propose  also  to  republish  the  Poetical  Works  of  Mr.  Clarke,  which  are  so  well 
known  already ;  but  which,  with  their  stereotyped  plates,  were  all  destroyed  in  the 
great  fire  ;  together  with  all  the  accumulations  of  the  author's  life. 

These  works  consist  of  "  A  Day  in  May,"  a  Poem  in  Six  Books  ;  "Sir  Copp,"  a 
Poem  for  the  Times  in  Six  Cantos  ;  "  The  Two  Angels ;  or.  Love-led,  a  Poem  in 
Six  Cantos  ;  and  "  The  Battle  "  and  other  Poems,  patriotic  and  humorous. 

Editors  who  will  copy  the  above  Prospectus  and  send  us  a  marked  paper  con- 
taining it,  will  receive  each  number  regularly  by  mail  as  soon  as  it  appears. 

CLARKE  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
Agents  wanted  everywhere.  443  Warren  Avenue,  Chicago. 


TESTIMONIALS. 

Of  the  many  spontaneous  testimonials  to  the  excellence,  purity  and  high  moral 
tone  of  these  poetical  works,  published  in  the  leading  Journals  of  the  country,  we 
can  find  room  at  present  for  only  a  few  brief  extracts  from  the  Chicago  papers ;  and 
even  these  must  be  limited  to  one  book,  namely  :  "  The  Two  Angels,"  a  work  whiclr 
stands  high  in  the  judgment  of  all  who  have  perused  it,  and  takes  rank  amongst  the 
first  literary  productions  of  this  or  any  other  age  : 

"THE  TWO  ANGELS." 

"  'The  Two  Angels'  essays  the  great  theme  of  the  origin  of  evil.  The  plot  pos- 
sesses interest  and  power,  while  its  influence  is  thrown  upon  the  side  of  virtue  and 
religion." — Advance  of  Chicago,  (Congregational.) 

"  Mr.  Clarke's  previous  poems  have  all  been  well  received  by  the  press  and  the 
public.  '  The  Two  Angels'  takes  captive  the  reader,  and  carries  him  away  in  spite  of 
himself." — Chicago  Stajidard,  (Baptist.) 

"  There  is  genuine  poetry  on  every  page ;  and  whoever  commences  the  perusal  of 
'The  Two  Angels,'  will  not  lay  the  book  down  till  he  has  finished  it." — Mrs.  Liver- 
more  in  The  New  Covenant. 

"  The  story  of  '  The  Two  Angels'  will  bear  witness  to  the  learning  and  genius  of 
its  author." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

"  The  best  English  critics  have  awarded  to  Mr.  Clarke  a  high  rank  among  the 
first  poets  of  the  age." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"The  story  of  'The  Two  Angels'  is  decidedly  superior  to  'Milton's  Paradise 
Lost,'  Mr.  Clarke  has  great  facility  in  versification,  his  fable  is  ingenious,  his  fancy 
fruitful,  and  his  diction  correct  and  elegant." — Chicago  Republican. 

"  The  pleasure  we  derive  from  Mr.  Clarke's  volumes  is  enhanced  by  the  fact,  that 
the  author  is  one  of  our  most  estimable  citizens." —  Western  Rural 

"  Dear  Sir  :  Your  '  Two  Angels'  took  me  captive  at  the  first  introduction,  (as  did 
its  author)  and  love-led  me  to  the  end  with  delight." — Alfred  Dutch,  Esq.  of  Chicago. 

"  Dear  Sir :  Your  beautiful  poem  '  The  Two  Angels,'  I  have  read  with  the  deepest 
interest.  It  is  concise,  and  in  my  judgment,  more  than  beautiful,  it  is  perfects — 
Hon.  Judge  Joseph  Knox,  of  Chicago. 

"  Mr.  Clarke's  works  have  received  the  stamp  of  public  approbation  ;  and  having 
passed  through  several  editions,  may  now  be  set  down  as  additions  to  the  standard 
literature  of  this  country," — Chicago  Evening  Mail. 

Editors  who  will  copy  the  above  Testimonials  and  send  us  a  marked  paper  con- 
taining  them  will  receive  each  book  regularly  by  mail  as  soon  as  it  appears. 

CLARKE  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

Agents  wanted  everywhere,  443  Warren  Avenue,  Chicago. 


PS 


PROSPECTUS 


NEW  BOOK  TO  BE   PUBLISHED   IN  CHICAGO,  ON  THE 
1ST  OF  MARCH,  1872. 


On  or  about  the  ist  of  March  next,  we  propose  to  begin  publishing,  in  parts  of 
32  pages  each,  a  new  and  beautiful  story  of  English  life,  entitled  "  Avondale  ;  or, 
THE  Adventurers,"  by  Thomas  Clarke,  author  of  "Sir  Copp,"  "The  Two  Angels," 
"A  Day  in  May,"  etc. 

This  work  has  been  carefully  prepared  ;  and  is  pronounced,  by  good  judges,  to  be 
the  masterpiece  of  the  author ;  that  it  will  defy  competition  ;  establish  the  pre- 
eminence of  our  home  literaiy  production  on  an  impregnable  basis  ;  and  convince 
ihe  world  that  the  Great  West  is  strong  in  literature  as  she  is  in  every  thing  else 
that  is  great  and  good.     The  price  will  be  25  cents  per  number,  paper  covers. 

As  we  will  issue  20,000  copies — never  less — but  perhaps  many  more,  it  will  be 
the  best  pqssible  medium  for  advertisers  to  make  themselves  and  their  wares  known 
all  over  the  country,  and  we  solicit  them  to  send  in  their  subscriptions  and  llieir 
orders  at  once. 

We  propose  also  to  republish  the  Poetical  Works  of  Mr.  Clarke,  which  are  so  well 
known  already  ;  but  wliich,  with  their  stereotyped  plates,  were  all  destroyed  in  the 
great  fire  ;  together  with  all  the  accumulations  of  the  author's  life, 

These  works  consist  of"  A  Day  in  May,"  a  Poem  in  Six  Books  ;  "Sir  Copi>,"  a 
Poem  for  the  Times  in  Six  Cantos  ;  "  The  Two  Angels ;  or.  Love-led,  a  Poem  in 
Six  Cantos  ;  and  "The  Battle"  and  other  Poems,  patriotic  and  humorous. 

Editors  who  will  copy  the  above  Prospectus  and  send  us  a  marked  paper  con- 
taining it,  will  receive  each  number  regularly  by  mail  as  soon  as  it  appears. 

CLARKE  &  CO.,  PrnusuERS, 
Agents  wanted  even'where.  443  Warren  Avenue,  Chicago. 


